


Take On Me

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Hypnotism, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: Even twenty years later, Mantis considers the old man a personal failure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [BrackenMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrackenMouth) dared me to write this. Neither of us were expecting to get so much into it.

Even twenty years later, Mantis considers the old man a personal failure. 

But he was just a kid back then. 

When Eli tells him they’ll have Ocelot on their team, Mantis feels a lick of pride ignite in his belly. He’s powerful now, so much more powerful, skilled and trained, thousands of broken minds left in his wake. He’s going to _ruin_ the old man, make him pay for his flippancy when they were kids under his care, carve his mind open like a turkey and expose all his most obscene secrets for all to see. 

He’s considerably disappointed when it turns out Ocelot did not, in fact, get any easier to read. If anything, the blocks and walls in his mind have become stronger, calcified with age and drugs. 

He notices the drugs almost instantly, but for some reason he doesn’t tell Eli. They don’t seem to be impairing him, in fact the opposite - so they’re not a threat. Still, the old man goes through a remarkable amount of pills and his arms are heavily marked with bruised holes and Mantis is fairly sure it’s at least part of the reason he just can’t get a good grip on his mind. 

But it’s not all there is to it, and Mantis finds himself drawn to him, fascinated. If only because his internal voice is entirely silent when he’s around. He’s like a character out of a movie, and often Mantis floats towards the isle of silence of his mind when he needs a break from Eli and the soldiers and those _insufferable_ scientists. Ocelot does not seem to mind having him hovering around him at weird times. Most of the time barely acknowledges him, always busy cleaning his guns or scribbling unintelligible gibberish into his notebook. 

He does tonight, maybe because Mantis is a little out of sorts himself. Things in the engineering levels are giving problems and Eli is _mad_ , his mind prickly and venomous, and Mantis can’t be bothered to handle him. 

“Eli being fussy again?” asks Ocelot casually when Mantis hovers past the door to the room he’s elected at his quarters. 

It’s the first time he’s actually spoken to him directly in twenty years. 

He nods and shrugs. Ocelot looks at him, and closes his notebook, placing it carefully in his breast pocket. Mantis tries to probe his mind, just out of habit, but nothing but a low buzz of feedback comes back at him. 

“Take off your mask,” says Ocelot suddenly, in Russian.

Mantis stares. He’d somehow forgotten he was Russian, too. He shakes his head. 

There’s too many people here, too many minds full of rage and fear and disgusting _needs_. Taking his mask off is out of the question. 

“Look at me,” says Ocelot quietly, his blue eyes penetrating through the thick lenses of Mantis’ mask. “Just focus on me and nothing else.”

“Are you trying to hypnotize me, old man,” rasps out Mantis. 

A small smile flashes through Ocelot’s eyes and makes his mustache twitch. “Of course not. I couldn’t hypnotize you in a million years.”

A shiver of pleased pride runs down Mantis spine. 

“Just focus on me and relax, Tretij.”

Nobody calls him that anymore aside from Eli, and even then he only does so when they’re alone in their room, his lips warm on the back of his neck when he thinks he’s asleep.

Slowly, he hovers down to sit on the desk, heavy booted feet dangling a few inches from Ocelot’s crossed knees. 

They stare into each other’s eyes for a while. Ocelot speaks slowly and quietly, his rough voice spinning Russian with an accent Mantis has never heard before, the words inconsequential but calming.

Mantis’ shoulders relax, his mind flooding with images of the brilliant blue sea and impossibly bright sun, the happy dog mind always chasing after Ocelot’s heels, the scorching fire of Eli’s teenager mind, synth-pop blaring from speakers, the sticky warm chocolate the Diamond Dogs guards sneaked to them when Miller wasn’t looking.

“Take off your mask, Tretij,” says Ocelot again, and Mantis leans over, offering his face to him. 

Deft, gloved fingers gently undo the straps, pulling the mask off bit by bit not to startle him. 

Mantis feels the nauseating wave of thoughts pushing at him almost instantly, and searches for Ocelot’s eyes. The crystal blue Seychelles sea drowns the voices down. 

“What are you,” he croaks. Not much surprises him these days but this _is_ surprising. “Are you like me?”

“Never had the chance to find out,” says Ocelot simply. “Perhaps it was for the best.”

Mantis swallows, knowing he’s looking at the scars and burns on his face, the stitches and wire patching him like an old doll. 

He’s washed by a wave of images of bright red hair and pink fresh burns, unbroken skin and flesh. He does not feel nausea and shame when gloved fingertips brush against the wires in his cheek. 

Nothing but a low distant hum touches his mind. Mantis wants to close his eyes but he’d stop looking into Ocelot’s and he’s not sure he wants to do that. 

“You’re still a beautiful kid, Tretij,” purrs Ocelot. 

Mantis threads his fingers through his long hair. It’s white as the snow from his childhood and finer than Eli’s thick blonde waves. Ocelot smiles, leaning into the gesture like a cat. Mantis leans over and presses his lips to Ocelot’s. His mustache tickles. He grimaces, pulling back. 

Ocelot laughs, cupping his cheek and pulling him in at a better angle. His lips are soft and cool, and a pleasant ebb of flashes and images and voices leaks into Mantis’ mind. 

“Adamska?” he breathes when they part. 

Ocelot smiles, pressing his finger to his lips. His glove smells like leather and gunpowder. “A little thank you. Keep it to yourself.”

Mantis nods. He doesn’t know anybody who’d benefit from knowing Ocelot’s name, and he can feel the little word make itself a nest in his mind, warm and secret like a stolen sweet. Not many have spoken this name. He smiles, wires pulling at his mouth. 

Ocelot replaces his gas mask, finally letting his influence fade. Mantis closes his eyes, feeling more rested than he has in months. 

“Come by if you need a breather,” says Ocelot. “I know Eli can be a handful.”

Mantis chuckles as he hovers off the desk and leaves the room. 

He hums an old eighties song the whole rest of the day, and nothing bothers him.


End file.
